


Trying To Do It Right

by dedougal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-15 04:44:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1291810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's not sure what they're doing and he's not sure how Stiles is going to take his offer. Of tickets. Because sex is already on the table.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trying To Do It Right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theaeblackthorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theaeblackthorn/gifts).
  * Inspired by [I used to know the name of every person I kissed.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/784379) by [theaeblackthorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theaeblackthorn/pseuds/theaeblackthorn). 



> There were a whole lot of wonderful fics I wanted to remix but so many of them were just perfect I couldn't see how to add to them! So I went for this version of Stiles and Derek and extrapolated. Hope you enjoy.

Derek tapped the tickets against his palm, a little too hard to be anything casual. He was still not sure about this. He’d spent enough time trapped with Stiles’ iPod to know Stiles liked this band, liked them enough to have them on a couple of his every more bizarre playlists, but he wasn’t sure how Stiles was going to take the offer.

There had been blow jobs. Derek hadn’t known how to react to those. Well, he had in the whole lifeshattering orgasm way because Stiles' mouth. But more than the whole dick touching thing, there had been kissing and caressing and something he was fairly sure qualified as making out, stretched out on Stiles’ bed, arms around each other and no urgency to just get each other off. Which they did, because no one likes blue balls, but it was easy and warm and ever increasing spirals of want, desire, heat. 

Derek tapped the tickets again. He could leave them on top of Stiles’ laptop, where Stiles would be sure to see them. Then Stiles could take Lydia or Scott or even Danny and go see the band and dance or just nod his head intensely and wear skinny jeans and have people eyeing him up because of the breadth of his shoulders and the way his grin made the upturn of his nose turn from cute to wicked and…

A soft cough broke through Derek’s musing. “Hey,” Stiles said, tossing his backpack under the chair and kicking off his shoes. He even made it look co-ordinated, but that was more through habit than any innate grace. Stiles had a feyness, sure enough, but it didn’t manifest through elegance particularly often.

“Stiles. I just.” Derek stopped. There was a lump in his throat that he had to cough to ease. He tucked the tickets into his back pocket before he could think any more about them. “Hi,” he finished, lamely. Derek knew that if he wasn’t a werewolf his palms would be sweating. Stiles grinned at him, twisted as usual and on the edge of tired.

“And, again, hello. But now I’m in need of a nap before dinner because it turns out that researching until four and then having a full day of school and practice means that you end up feeling like someone had pounded you with lacrosse sticks and not the soft net end either.” Stiles shrugged. “You need me for anything.”

Derek was suddenly glad he’d tucked the tickets away. Stiles was obviously not that keen to see him if sex or death by supernatural being wasn’t on the cards. “No. It’s fine. I’ll see you later.”

 

The tickets were lying on the kitchen counter when Stiles shuffled into his loft and made grabby hands at the coffee maker.

“Stiles?” Derek was halfway through a workout designed to drive any thoughts of Stiles out of his mind. His skin was slicked with sweat and he wondered if he should grab a shirt to cover up as Stiles moaned at the empty machine.

“Coffee,” Stiles groaned. “I need caffeine.”

Derek hauled one of the energy drinks he’d taken to keeping out of the refrigerator and handed it over, trying to ignore Stiles’ low moan of gratitude. He grabbed a bottle of water for himself and chugged half of it to drown out Stiles’ quiet happy noises. They made him think of other ways to make Stiles happy, of the noises Stiles had made while Derek was kissing him.

Stiles leaned closer, seemingly not caring that Derek was gross and slick with perspiration. “Hey.” His voice was still quiet, intimate in tone and everything Derek was telling himself he couldn’t have. Stiles looked like he was almost zeroing in on Derek’s mouth and Derek knew he couldn’t let himself fall back into that again. He knew he’d take as much as Stiles would give him, let himself be used for orgasms and fun and let his heart be smashed into pieces all over again when Stiles moved on to something real.

That was when Stiles grabbed the tickets. “You’re going to this? _I_ wanted to go to this! I saw the posters but…” Stiles flipped them over. “You got two.” Stiles held them close to read.

Derek swallowed some more water. “You can have them. Take Scott.”

Stiles’ face did something complicated, something unreadable, before he put them back on the counter. “Scott’d be busy. And you’ve only got one spare.” Stiles drained his soda and mumbled his farewells and headed out. 

Derek slumped over the counter, trying to tell himself he didn’t care, that it didn’t matter.

 

Derek was still slumped over the counter, his head in his hands, when Stiles stomped back in ten minutes later.

“So. Listen. I think you bought those tickets for us but you’re being Derek and you’re having some kind of weird trust issues/mental collapse because you think I’m thinking something and you’re not talking or asking and I’m going to have to stop and breathe or I’m going to collapse.” Stiles sucked in a huge gulp of air, let it out, then breathed more normally. Derek tried to untangle what Stiles had said but it was impossible, especially when Stiles began again. “Sex is great. I like sex. I always knew I would. But, and this is the important bit, what we’re doing-“ Stiles gestured between himself and Derek in a way that managed to be awkward and lascivious all at the same time. “What we’re doing is more than just sex. Or. If you wanted it to be, it could be. And not just ‘friends-with-benefits’.” Stiles made air quotes with his fingers. “You would hate that band. You’ve only listened to them when I made you. So, therefore, logically, the tickets are for me. And you. Since there are only two.”

Derek watched Stiles take another breath, trying to think it all through. He had to respond but since what he wanted to say in response to Stiles’ long, drawn out rant were three little words that perhaps said more than he wanted them to, he just nodded. “Yes,” he added, when Stiles looked infuriated. It didn’t calm him down.

“Yes to what? To the tickets? To the more-than-sex?” Stiles punched him in the arm. “You’re worse than Deaton.” Derek hadn’t even noticed Stiles getting close enough to hit him.

“To… Yes, to everything.” Derek stopped any further protests by looking pathetic and tipping his head up and drifting closer to Stiles’ mouth in a definite hint. Stiles grabbed him by the cheeks and hauled him in and kissed him. Derek caught Stiles’ hips with his hands and pulled him tight against him.

 

The lead singer wore a torque that barely clung to his head and Derek wondered if he really needed the black framed spectacles that balanced on his long, thin nose. Equally, the guitarist looked like he could barely move in his painted on jeans. But it was music and it was live and Stiles was into it, swaying back against Derek more than was strictly in the name of dancing. Derek raised an eyebrow when Stiles looked over his shoulder after a particularly unsubtle pass. 

The guy at the door had given Stiles a once-over that was more than just checking his underage status when Derek had hauled him in. The place was uncomfortably full of hipsters in ironic plaid and scarves that would make Isaac weep with jealousy. And Derek felt unaccountably smug that he was here with Stiles and they were dancing together and no one else would get to dance with Stiles at all. Not one of the guys or girls and not even the lead singer who looked over when Stiles yelled out, “Play Freebird.”

Derek buried his face in Stiles’ neck, arms around Stiles’ hips and hung on tight.


End file.
